


The Order of the Pack

by barebranches



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts, It's not bestiality if they're both animals, M/M, MWPP Era, Marauders, Not omega-verse just werewolves, One Shot, POV Third Person, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Ratings: R, Young Remus Lupin, Young Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barebranches/pseuds/barebranches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a hierarchy to every pack, and a wolf always knows his rightful place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Order of the Pack

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Prisoner of Azkaban  
> I do not own any part of Harry Potter. This is intended for fun and in no way intended for profit. All copyrights belong to their respective owners.

There was no question that James was the alpha; they all knew it, and never challenged it, and followed him loyally. Sirius was the beta, but only because he loved James too much to challenge him for leadership. In any other pack, Sirius would be alpha, and he made sure everyone else knew it, but this was James, and he followed, and was the second who threw all his power behind the rightful alpha. And Remus was third for lack of anyone else but Peter being around, and would never dream of trying to rule the pack, would never want to, but was only surprised and grateful every day that he was even part of it.

This was the way things were, the order of the pack coming as naturally into place as dark after sunset, as the waxing of the moon after the waning.

So he never questioned that Sirius was always the one on top, the one behind, the one standing braced while Remus bent or knelt, Sirius taking his own bright pleasure while the other boy beat himself off, frantic with need. A few times he held Remus afterwards, but usually he caught his own breath, cleaned himself, and pulled his robes back on while Remus lay flushed, gasping, trembling on the bathroom floor, or slumped against the balustrade or the corridor wall. He never offered to kneel for Remus, to get him off with those dangerous sultry lips, and Remus never asked.

He wondered sometimes if Sirius ever made it into James's bed. He didn't think so, James only had eyes for Lily, and he feared sometimes that Sirius would grow bitter and jealous and turn against James, as only a beta can. But, secretly, he hoped that James would never look at Sirius that way, because who would want Remus when they could have the alpha?

_He_ didn't want the alpha, only Sirius. Always Sirius. He wanted the touch of Sirius's skin, the tight grip of his hands on his hips, the impossibly soft skin of his cock under his hands or between his lips. He would lie in bed, awake in the darkness, knowing Sirius was right there, one bed over, breath low and even, and he would wish that they had the room alone, wish that he could slip into Sirius's bed and stroke him until the beta turned him over in a frenzy of need and desire, wish that afterwards in the dizzying glow of orgasm he could lie with him there in a real bed, his own pale thin arms holding the dark sinewy body until they both stopped quivering. It never happened, not like that, but maybe Sirius was lying in bed thinking the same thing, because often the next day Sirius would slip away with him to some deserted dusty corner of some unused hall, and would take him, and, sated, they would slip away again and to their next class, and never speak of it.

This was the way things were, and it was natural.

Except for the night of the full moon.

Under the full moon, Wolf had been alone for years, but when at last he was not, _he_ was the alpha. When his pack finally came to him they crouched at his paws, unbound the chains, and followed _him_ out into the sweet cold night. Rat was soon left behind but Stag and Hound kept pace with him as they raced through the darkness, and _his_ growl was the one to silence dispute, _his_ howl began the hunt, _his_ jaws had first right to any prey they took down. They watched him as they ran, their bright eyes following him, and they ran where he ran because they were Wolf's pack.

And he was the one to take Hound, rutting fiercely on the dead leaves of the forest floor. He was the one to lunge and grip Hound's neck between his great jaws and force him to the earth, to feel the thick fur on Hound's back bristling against his belly, to smell the spike in Hound's musk, to know that Hound could smell it too and Wolf's answering musk. They fit against each as though made that way, great black dog under even larger silver wolf. Under the full moon, Hound licked Wolf's ears, and crouched on the floor with ears pricked, and rolled over to expose throat and belly and cock for his alpha.

This was the way things were, and it was natural.

And when, at dawn, the agony left him curled on the floor of the shack whimpering, claws digging into the rotten boards and tail limp behind him, his pack crouched around and waited for him, whimpering in answer, and Hound crawled forward and lay his huge dark muzzle across Wolf's trembling back. It hurt, even the lightest touch drew pain like claws through his muscles and into the bone, but it was Hound, and he closed his yellow eyes and suffered it, held onto it, even as the agony mounted and he heard his whimpers turn to howls and his howls turn to screams. When the blindness of pain faded and he could see again – so badly, so dimly – he was always curled up on the floor, naked, bloody, shaking.

But Sirius's head was always still cradled against his side for a moment, just a moment longer, skin to skin, before Sirius pulled away and went to find robes and chocolate from the stash under the loose stair, and James started chattering about the night's adventures while Peter egged him on. Remus lay curled up, waiting for the last of the pain to die away, for the first thin threads of strength to return to his limbs, and for the familiar step and faint warmth as Sirius draped his robe over him and settled down nearby. Not near enough to touch, but almost.

Not the next day, nor the day after, but the third day after the full moon Sirius always drew him secretly away from the other students to some abandoned classroom, and took him, bent over a desk or braced against the wall. They fit together, awkward thin mouse-haired boy under fiercely graceful dark boy, as if made for it. Afterwards his beta pulled his robes back on, gave him that beautiful slow smile, and left.

And this was the way things were, the order of the pack, and he knew it was right.


End file.
